


Send Me the Thunderstorm (I’ll Thrive on the Chaos)

by writingtwentyfour



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Famous Harry, Famous Louis, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Jealous Harry, Jealous Louis, Jealousy, Light Spanking, M/M, Nipple Play, No Strings Attached, Rimming, and some, emotionally stunted idiots, niall and harry are best friends, one direction is three direction with Louis Liam and Zayn, one instance of, probably too much use of the word ‘baby’ because it’s my favorite thing and I can't even explain why, some - Freeform, some light - Freeform, some miscommunication obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingtwentyfour/pseuds/writingtwentyfour
Summary: It’s a whirlwind romance if there ever was one, except it’snota romance because that’s what they had decided when it started, and Louishasto stick by that to keep his sanity. It does a fantastic job of picking Louis up and whipping him around either way though, like a tornado that just doesn’t let go, and yet Louis isn’t afraid of hitting the ground. He sees lightening in Harry’s eyes when he looks at him and hears thunder when he speaks, and Louis finds he doesn’t ever want to leave the storm.-Or, a Singer AU in which Harry and Louis are both successful artists, and Louis is three years into his solo career when he actually meets Harry properly for the first time. He’s three months into a no-strings-attached relationship with him when he comes to the abrupt realization that he’s falling way too hard and has no idea what to do about it.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	Send Me the Thunderstorm (I’ll Thrive on the Chaos)

**_i._ **

The first time Louis meets Harry Styles is when the (very obviously drunk) lad bumps into him at the 2018 BRIT Awards After Party. Now, granted, he’s known _of_ the man for years - has seen his picture in plenty of newspapers (because Louis’ old fashioned) and magazines - but that doesn’t stop him from being just a _little_ bit startled by how, er… well. How pretty much drop dead _gorgeous_ the man actually is.

And like, yeah, he’s harboring a thin layer of sweat on his brow bone that Louis is pretty sure has accumulated from just being in a room full of hundreds of people dancing and drinking and yelling, and his long brown curls aren’t as soft as the papers make them look (although Louis thinks that can probably also be blamed on the high temperature of the room), and they’re matted to his head like he just finished a run, but the whole picture actually ranges kind of close to endearing - the way he's swaying from the one too many drinks he’s had only adding to that conclusion - and Louis already knows he’s so fucked as the man balances himself on the table next to them, giving Louis an award-winning smile that’s only slightly lopsided due to the alcohol and inebriation. Yep, definitely fucked.

“ _Hiiii_ ,” the man (or really, the _boy_ , with those dimples) drawls in a low, deep voice that Louis could only hope to imagine was real. He’s grinning at Louis, fluttering his eyelashes innocently like he has no idea the effect he has on the slightly smaller man right now, and Louis can’t help but sigh dreamily.

He pulls himself together, replacing his soft smile for the playful smirk he’s mastered from plenty of trial and error in these types of situations, reaching out to help balance the man-boy who had apparently decided he could balance on his own (read: he decidedly could not). “Hi darling, little tipsy, are we?”

The boy flushes a little at the pet name - flushes _beautifully_ \- and he only grins harder. “ _Yeahhhhh_.”

Louis chuckles, crinkle-eyed smile and all, and looks around leisurely at the people who surround them, lets the pounding music fill in the silence, before focusing back on the boy. “Shouldn’t someone be watching you love? Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking like this on your own.”

The boy furrows his eyebrows adorably. “ ’M fine. I can drink on my own, I’m big,” he claims, and… And he’s _pouting_. Like. Full blown, lower-lip-budged-out-and-a-crease-between-his-eyebrows _pouting_ , as if Louis claiming that he might not be able to handle his alcohol is offensive, and what even _is_ this boy? Honestly.

Louis smiles softly, agreeing easily. “I’m sure babe.”

Harry beams at him again, and the missed opportunity to tease him for his alcohol tolerance was definitely worth it. Louis would happily do it again if it earns him that smile with those dimples. “You’re _prettyyy_ ,” he drawls, and it’s only half-slurred this time. Progress really.

Louis gives him an amused smile. “Yeah?”

The boy nods seriously. “Yeah. Pretty Louis.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “You know my name?”

(And like, Louis knows Harry’s name, of course the boy knows Louis’, but the way his cheeks flush so quickly and he goes all shy does wonders for Louis.)

“Er, um, I-- you well, uh. Yeah?”

“Are you asking me love?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly, curls flying wildly in a halo around his head as he tries to stutter out an explanation, and Louis loves the way he squirms, his brain supplying helpfully that he doesn’t think he would mind watching it in a different situation really, and - Oh. Well.

He reaches out and puts a settling hand on the boy’s vibrant blazer, gripping him gently to get his attention and laughing softly. “I’m kidding. No need to get worked up love.”

Harry stops fishing for words and just stills, a gorgeous pink shade still coloring his cheeks. “Oh.”

The boy keeps staring at him, looks completely enamored by all that is Louis, and he unashamedly gives him a once over or two, lips parted in what could be awe or arousal, and Louis needs to end this before he takes it too far.

He smiles softly at the man-boy (still undecided), taking his hand back from where it was still holding Harry up, and he looks around once to calm his racing heart that has _no_ right to be beating so fast, before meeting Harry’s lovely green eyes again. “Sorry, gotta go babe - places to be, people to see, allat.” He waves his hand around lazily, gesturing at what, he doesn’t know. “Lovely to meet you Harry,” he adds after a beat.

He walks away without waiting for a response, and he only hears the ‘ _But_ -’ that leaves Harry’s lips before he’s entranced in the music of the night club again, missing the confused ‘ _I never told you my name_ ’ that followed.

-

Naturally, they run into each other again, hours later in the wee hours of the morning when Louis’ had a little more to drink and Harry is definitely more than tipsy - pissed out of his mind actually - vibrant and brash in the way he jumps around the dancefloor (because he really can't dance, so it’s definitely more like jumping - _flailing_ \- around).

Louis’ sat on a couch surrounded by Liam and Zayn and various other industry friends-lads-mates-etcetera-etcetera, when Harry stumbles over to him, plopping his arse down on the seat next to (or rather, _on_ ) Louis, and fitting himself into the man’s side.

Louis doesn’t have a chance to say anything before the boy is nuzzling his face into Louis’ neck, inhaling his scent and sighing dreamily. “Hiiii,” he drawls in the same voice as the first time, the low, seductive, sultry one that gives Louis goosebumps.

Louis puts a supportive hand on Harry’s back, lets himself out of the current conversation between his mates and the other random acquaintances that are sat around him politely, and twists his neck a little so he can speak directly into the man’s ear. “Hi love. Back for more now?” he teases easily.

The boy, completely off his face, just nods into his neck, before he sits back a little, glazed over eyes peering into Louis’. “You’re pretty,” he slurs, and something about his tone is final, nothing left up for debate in the way he says it so self-assuredly.

Louis chuckles a little, rubbing shapes into the small of the man’s back. He thinks it could become one of his favorite pastimes, tracing the curves of Harry’s spine and the muscles that ripple under the fabric of his shirt. He also thinks he’s probably had too much to drink if he’s thinking things like that. “Think you’ve used that one already babe.”

Harry pouts. “But it’s _true_ ,” he insists emphatically.

Louis just laughs, too endeared. “What’s brought you back then?”

Harry loses his pout suddenly, facial expression becoming serious like he remembered what he stumbled over here for, and the gleam in his eyes makes him look a little far away, like he could be completely pliant, let whoever do whatever to him. That scares Louis a little.

Harry buries his face into Louis’ neck again, and this time he can feel the man’s lips again the burning skin. “Want you,” the boy mumbles into his neck, and it’s muffled slightly by how he goes back to kissing the soft skin again.

Louis suppresses a shiver, looking up and meeting the curious gaze of Zayn, who, bless him, decides better of interrupting. Louis hums instead, rubbing the man’s back. “Think you’re a little too intoxicated for that babe.”

Harry shakes his head, sitting back up. “ No, not. Want you Lou. Please,” he implores.

_Lou._

Louis clears his throat, tries to regain a semblance of control over himself, and when he speaks, it’s only _slightly_ affected by arousal, so he thinks it worked rather well, all things considered. He coughs into his fist. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

Harry hums, presses one more kiss to Louis’ neck and sits up. There’s a new fire in his eyes, a certain amount of newly found determination, and without a thought he shuffles over, throws a leg over Louis’ lap and straddles him. Louis’ mouth is open in shock when Harry scoots back so that he’s on the edge of Louis’ thighs, smirking mischievously at Louis before unceremoniously lifting a hand and cupping Louis’ semi-hard cock that’s hidden under his slacks and - Oh. Well. That’s one way to do it, Louis supposes.

A mischievous gleam dances its way across Harry’s olive-green eyes then, and he looks ready to devour Louis just about, like he’s starving and Louis’ the only thing that he could possibly settle for. He opens his mouth again, replacing his devilish smirk with words, and his voice is deep again, slow, long gone the desperate tone he had been trying on Louis not five minutes ago. “Seems you think it is though. Little excited are we darling?”

Louis’ dick twitches pitifully at the way Harry can switch between twinkish boy and the new, deep, dominant tone that commands attention; the one that confirms he knows exactly how irresistible he really is, how charming. He cups Louis in a firmer grip to prove his point, feels Louis filling up beneath him, this is a _terrible_ idea. Louis should’ve known better, should’ve known that Liam was right when he said that Harry always gets what he wants, whether it’s through charming the pants off someone, or _flirting_ the pants off them. Either way seems to be working really.

Louis coughs, shifting under Harry’s weight to look over his shoulder, both Liam and Zayn watching him with curious, maybe concerned, but definitely slightly amused, glances. Louis adverts his eyes, focusing instead on how Harry is palming him softly over his pants in _public_ , has absolutely no shame about it. The way he’s looking around though, Louis thinks Harry may actually _want_ to be caught and that’s, that’s. Louis doesn’t know. He can’t possibly be expected to think about such things right now without spontaneously combusting.

He swallows thickly, willing his body to for once in its life not react, and he holds Harry’s gaze, tries to prove that he’s better than this. “What’s wrong? Can give it but can’t take it? That’s a little selfish innit?” Harry moves in again on his neck when he’s finished speaking, and he continues to lightly, _teasingly_ palm Louis while he presses kisses to the underside of his jaw.

It’s all Louis can do to keep from squirming, stop his mouth from releasing something that he’s sure would sound close to a green light for Harry to continue, so he stays quiet, opting for silence as his best defense.

Harry’s mouth moves to beside his ear and Louis can feel his hot breath fan over the skin, elicit chills down the back of his neck. “What d’ya say? Doesn’t have to mean anything love, leaving in a couple of weeks anyway,” he drawls slowly, voice silky smooth, and that’s - that’s. That’s all Louis needs to realize he needs to stop this, to gain control again and keep himself from making a decision he’ll regret by dawn.

He gently rests his hands on Harry’s hips, gripping him firm enough to lift him off so he can switch their positions. He sets Harry on the leather couch beside him, shifts so he’s still in front of him and Harry continues to grab at him, press kisses into his skin and it’s just so _tempting_. Except no, Louis can't. _Can_. _Not_.

He lifts his hands and grips Harry’s shoulders lightly, pressing him back into the couch and Harry goes willingly, stares up at Louis with a different look this time, something close to complete submission maybe, and Louis takes his hands back as quick as he can, opting to instead lean in towards Harry’s mouth. He turns his head to the side at the last moment - before the man can go after his lips - and holding his own mouth right by his ear, says, “Sorry love, not looking for another mistake at the moment.”

He straightens up, watching amusedly as the man dazedly chases his lips before he’s out of reach, and he smiles down at him, moves a curl out of the man’s face. He turns around before the man can say anything else, anything to convince Louis to stay, since, admittedly, it wouldn’t take much.

Liam and Zayn are flanking his sides before he knows it and that’s that. They walk away from the seats, away from Harry, and they’re making their way out into the cold February air before Louis can stop to think about how much he wants to turn around and make reckless decisions with a man he doesn’t know.

**_ii._ **

It’s a week later that Louis’ put in the same situation, at a birthday party for someone he doesn’t actually think he’s met in person. That didn’t stop him from being invited or attending however, and three hours in he’s sat in one of the several living rooms in a house that would be deemed lavish to most ( _most,_ because it isn't exactly huge compared to the homes the other A-list guests are accommodated with), a little bit tipsy with a lap full of man who’s a lot past drunk. He thinks God’s laughing at him from above.

Louis doesn’t really know when or how long Harry’s been sitting here, but his presence just kind of feels nice. Like, combined with the same gin and tonic he’s been sipping on for the last half hour, the way Harry laughs unashamedly at anything Niall - who Louis also met recently, and turns out to be one of Harry’s best mates - says, and the weight of Harry on him, he just feels relaxed, could stay here for a while.

Harry’s been switching his attention between other guests and Louis frequently, making sure to nuzzle up under Louis’ neck or curl into his side a little more so that he gets his point of needing all of Louis’ attention across (which is just crazy really, because of course the only thing Louis can focus on is Harry. The man commands attention everywhere he goes just by his presence), before he jumps right back into a conversation with someone Louis can't really remember the name of, but he also doesn’t think it’s that important.

Liam and Zayn are off somewhere on another floor which leaves Louis to entertain himself by running his hand through Harry’s curls, waiting until the woman Harry’s been chatting with finally dismisses herself, stands up and walks off to talk with someone else.

Louis finds all of Harry’s attention on him then, and he helps the man flip around where he’s seated half on his lap and half on the couch cushion next to him, pushes a curl off his forehead. The alcohol he’s been consuming for the last couple hours has made his cheeks a little flushed and his eyes glazed over, and he looks beautiful, Louis thinks.

“Hi darlin. Having fun on my lap?” Louis smirks, watching as a sloppy grin slides onto Harry’s face.

“You have no idea,” he drawls, unapologetically himself and completely unashamed of showing what he wants, as Louis is learning is a fairly common trait of his.

He leans in further once he’s made dwindling eye contact with Louis, presses his lips to Louis’ without a thought, and it’s all Louis can do to sit there and let it happen, move his lips languidly against Harry’s and ignore the small part of him that still reminds him that this is a bad idea.

Harry’s thighs encompass him when he shifts, and the new position gives him an advantage on Louis, easily lets him dominate the kiss, and Louis indulges him, lets Harry take what he wants for a second.

He draws back, leaving Louis’ lips, and settles for pressing kisses across his cheek, down his jaw, and to the pulse point on his neck instead. Louis bares his neck to let Harry in more and it’s _Harry_ that lets out a groan, so obviously affected by the way Louis lets him take what he wants and it’s just so _much_.

Harry’s been throwing himself at Louis all night, provoking him in any way he can to get his attention, and maybe he’s finally got it, now that the two men - the ones that look like a Vogue model and an exceptionally attractive puppy - that are usually around Louis are gone and there’s no one to distract them.

Louis’ been trying his hardest to not succumb to the way Harry smiles at him when he’s tipsy too, the way he throws his head back when he laughs and the way he is happy to let Louis play hard to get, happy to chase after him. But now the warning Liam had given him a week ago after the BRITS to not make dumb decisions with pretty boys that are eventually going to get him hurt is completely gone from his mind, just like the fact that Harry is only searching for a good fuck is forgotten as well, replaced with the arousal and the warmth that Harry gives him, and Louis’ too far in this to give it up now.

He pushes Harry up from off his chest where he has been sucking love bites that are sure to form in the next half hour, whispering into Harry’s ear huskily when he gets a return look of confusion that’s almost completely covered with blatant arousal. “C’mon - home,” Louis tells him, and it’s enough to have Harry hopping off his lap without pretense, letting Louis place his spread palm on the small of his back and lead them out of the extravagant house without a word.

-

They burst into Louis’ flat as soon as the key clicks in the lock, and Harry’s on him immediately, could barely keep it in his pants on the taxi ride over. Louis’ quick to shut the door behind them and push Harry up against it, fist his hands into his shirt and press their lips together urgently, deeply panting into each other’s mouths because even though they still need oxygen, they still can’t manage to slow down.

They stumble into Louis’ bedroom quickly, yanking every layer of clothing that’s separating their skin, off. Harry falls onto the bed under Louis, pulling himself up the mattress so his head hits the pillow, and he throws it back when Louis’ hips grind down on his. He presses kisses up and down Harry’s neck, to his naked chest and down his torso.

Louis bites at the skin of Harry’s stomach - the little bit of soft pudge that cushions his abdominals - and the blooming red mark that he leaves makes him desperate to form more. He moves on, further to his hips and the love handles that lie there beside them, and he bites harder when Harry gasps above him, pleasure swirling in his stomach from the hint of pain.

Harry’s cock is hard and red, flushed up against his stomach, and he moans pitifully every time Louis teases it, just to return to pressing kisses to his naval.

“Gonna suck you,” he murmurs softly, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Harry’s cock and a kitten lick to his slit before pulling back, just slightly. “ _Please_ ,” Harry rasps under him, a quick breath of the word, and he takes Harry into his mouth a few seconds after that, when Harry’s writhing underneath him again, sweaty and desperate.

The reaction he gets is beautiful and immediate, and Harry lets out low moans and high-pitched whines as his cock is swallowed by the tight heat of Louis’ mouth. It only does to spur Louis on, and he takes his time, sucks just like he likes on himself, which apparently does wonders for Harry too. He slides his tongue along the vein on the underside of Harry’s cock, pushes his tongue into his slit and comes back off with precome covering his cheek - trades it off and on for taking Harry back down deep and swallowing around him before bobbing back up again.

Harry’s large hands reach down to grip Louis’ hair, and he pushes him down on his cock, fucks into his mouth gently with low moans, and Louis lets him for a moment, just to hear the noises he makes if not anything else. He pulls off two minutes later when Harry’s getting too close, can feel him tensing up underneath him, stomach muscles tight like they’re aching for a release. He sucks kisses into the pale skin of Harry’s v-line and the insides of his thighs instead, and he trails back up, reaches Harry’s mouth. Harry's hums when he tastes himself on Louis’ tongue, and he reaches a hand down between them to palm at Louis’ cock.

Louis lets him, lets his kisses turn into sloppily running his lips over Harry’s cheek and shoulder, ducks his head into Harry’s neck when the man twists just right over his cock, spreads the precome around to make the glide easier and so, _so_ good.

Louis pushes himself up eventually, when he’s getting too close, shuffles over so he can reach the side table and fumbles around inside blindly until his hand finds purchase on the lube. He pulls it out unceremoniously, pops the lid off and coats four fingers, warms it up between the tips of them.

When he looks back down, Harry’s already looking up at him, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed in the moonlight. His thighs are spread, his hole open and inviting, and he’s stroking himself slowly, stopping every so often, like he’s just that close from only a blowjob and a couple sloppy kisses that anything more would send him hurtling over the edge.

Louis leans down, kisses Harry’s sloppily for the hundred time, and sits back up, trails his fingers up the crack of Harry’s arse. Harry’s breath hitches when he hits his rim, and Louis smirks, nudges just the tip in. The result is astounding, and Harry bucks up slightly into his grip, head thrown back with needy moans. It makes Louis’ finger slide in to the first knuckle, enough to make Harry clench around him and groan loudly, cock spurting more precome.

“Like that baby?” Louis smirks, gently thrusting the finger in, shallow enough that it won't cause any discomfort.

“Y- _yeah_ ,” Harry pants back, mouth parted in a perfect ‘o’ when Louis angles his finger just right.

Louis smirks, keeps going and opens Harry up more, and he adds a second finger when Harry’s writhing underneath him, all semblance of control gone. He’s letting out random and disorderly chants of Louis’ name and a string of curse words over and over, like he’s forgotten how to say anything else, and Louis thrives on it.

He presses in a third when Harry’s grinding back on his other two fingers, trying to take them deeper and groaning pitifully when he can’t get much more. He’s gorgeous like this too, Louis thinks, spread out on his mattress with his legs parted and taking Louis’ fingers so well. The way he’s clenching around Louis shows how desperate he is, and Louis is a little concerned about how long he’s going to last if Harry looks this enticing just riding his fingers.

“Look so gorgeous baby,” he decides to repeat out loud, and Louis doesn’t make it a habit to call his one-night stands pet names, but he thinks he’s willing to completely overlook this detail right now with the way Harry preens slightly at the praise.

The way Harry’s lips part like he’s getting pleasure just from Louis’ words is enough for Louis to continue, and he babbles out whatever nonsense he can think of with Harry lying here in front of him. “Take it so well too, know just how to ride my fingers don’t you? Bet you love it, feeling so full like this, favorite fucking thing isn’t it?”

Harry nods his head jerkily, hips moving in circles on the mattress, and it’s a good precursor to what he’d actually look like riding Louis, Louis guesses. Harry’s looser around him now than he was a couple minutes ago, and Louis’ mostly sure Harry could take him now, but he presses his fourth finger in among the others just in case, scissors at Harry’s walls to try to loosen him up just that much more.

Harry’s leaking precome down his cock from where it’s sitting flushed and neglected, and Louis would almost feel bad if he weren’t in the same boat. Harry writhes under him again when Louis hits somewhere deep inside him, and he smirks, looks down at wide green eyes and sweat mussed curls. “Hit it, did I?”

Harry gasps sharply when Louis hits the same spot again, and his mouth drops open, not even able to formulate a response. “Like that baby?” he taunts for no reason when he already knows the answer, and Harry just nods jerkily under him. He hits his prostate again and Harry’s body actually lurches this time, cock twitching and more precome beading at the tip, sliding down the underside of his cock. Harry arches his back, squeezes his eyes and bites his lip. “F- _fuck_ me,” he gasps, “Please, fuck me Louis. Please I--"

Louis nods dazedly, pulling his fingers out of Harry carefully, and he grabs the condom he had pulled out with the lube earlier off the nightstand, tears it open recklessly and slips it onto his aching cock. “Yeah, yeah okay,” he pacifies Harry, even after he’s already communicated his answer through his actions anyway. He lines up with Harry’s hole, tip pressing up against his rim as the man clenches, and Louis slips in easily, inching himself further and further until he bottoms out.

He groans, forehead dropping to Harry’s shoulder as he stays still, waits for Harry to adjust. He’d used four fingers too, but Harry is still impossibly tight around him. Harry nods some time in the next few minutes, groans, “okay, can move now,” and Louis does, pulling out shallowly before fucking back in. The first drag is deliciously tight, makes Louis see white, and they both moan throatily before Louis repeats the action, pulling out a little further this time and fucking in harder.

It feels amazing, having tight, white heat surrounding him again, and Louis builds a steady pace, groaning into Harry’s mouth. His nails scratch at Louis’ back as his body rocks with Louis’, and they’re sure to leave lines down his skin to be found in the morning, a red and glaring reminder of what Louis’ doing to him now. His legs wrap tight around Louis’ waist from under Louis’ body, and their sloppy kisses turns into just breathing into each other’s mouths when Louis hits that same spot again.

The sting of Harry’s nails is becoming more pronounced the longer they go on, and Louis needs to stay focused, so he grips Harry’s wrists, thumbing at his pulse point. Harry’s entire body goes slack in his hold, something hot curling inside Louis’ body when he realizes it, and he moves them up to the headboard, above Harry’s head. He squeezes Harry’s wrists gently, a silent command of, “ _stay_ ,” and Harry does, even when Louis pulls his hands back so that he can fuck Harry properly.

Harry’s releasing cut off moans and whimpers below him, the sound ringing loud in Louis’ ear, and he’s really fucking tight too, exceptionally so because of Louis’ size, and it doesn’t take much for them to get to the edge, for heat to simmer in Louis’ stomach. Harry clings to him like his life depends on it, letting out nonsensical moans and whimpers, forehead a sweaty mess with damp curls.

“ _Gonna come_ ,” he gasps when Louis finds a new angle and manages to hit Harry’s prostate consistently with every thrust. Louis grunts his reply, fucks him harder and feels the drag of his cock inside Harry. Harry comes a few moments later with a loud moan that simpers into a whimper, and Louis’ hips stutter when Harry clenches around him, spilling into the condom with white heat searing through his body. He feels like he’s on cloud nine as his orgasm rips through him - like he’s not even on the Earth anymore, a separate plane between the world and heaven maybe.

They come down slowly, and Louis pulls out, ties the condom and throws it into the trash bin by his bed. He rolls off Harry, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, and he should probably, most likely, _definitely_ be more worried about the consequences of what they just did, but Harry’s arguably the best Louis’ ever had, makes him feel like he’s seeing God every time Harry moans and clenches around him, and he can’t find it in him to care for the time being. 

**_iii._ **

****

Louis wakes up the next morning and rolls over to the other side of the bed, realizes a second too late that somebody’s body is supposed to be there, but when he groggily opens his eyes against the too-bright morning sun, the bed’s empty and the sheets under him are cool.

He looks around the room, only slightly more alert than thirty seconds ago, but it’s as if he’s the only one who ever stumbled in here last night. There aren’t clothes thrown all over – most certainly not ones that aren’t his – and the flat is entirely silent save for the traffic outside. The side of the bed that Louis doesn’t sleep in _is_ slept in, sheets scrunched up and pillow folded oddly, but there’s most definitely not a body lying there on it.

Louis sits up in bed, presses his naked back to the headboard and looks around one more time to be completely sure that Harry is in fact gone. He rubs at his eyes tiredly, wiping the sleep out of them, and flickers his eyes to the clock – _10:13 AM,_ \- lets himself think through every decision he made last night and how each one was possibly a bigger mistake than the last.

He pulls himself up eventually, when the mental list in his head of what he has to do today becomes more and more daunting, and he cleans around the flat as soon as he’s warmed himself up a cuppa, throwing the damp rag wiped with dried come on it into the washer along with his grimy clothes from the club. He sits on the couch with a half-eaten bag of crisps sometime around an hour and a half later, flicking on the TV, and he texts Zayn and tells him to come over when he’s done at the studio for the day; adds on five minutes later to bring something that’s going to get Louis high _fast_ , and Zayn’s simple reply of a thumbs up emoji and a cigarette with no questions asked is the exact answer Louis didn’t know he needed.

**_iv._ **

Because this isn’t a Rom-Com, Louis’ life goes on. He works with several artists in the meantime, in between trying to write his own album because he’s _behind_ , if he’s going by Liam and Zayn’s standards, and he sits at home, enjoys the quiet when it isn’t being disturbed by said Liam or Zayn. It’s two weeks later that he gets a text though, from a number he wasn’t aware had been saved into his phone, and it shouldn’t be possible, but Louis guesses who it is even before he looks at the screen.

_in town, need 2 fuck u right now_

_how’d u get my number ??,_ Louis sends first once he’s gotten over the confusion of why Harry’s texting him, because really: how? And then a few seconds later _: i’m busy_ , because he _is_. He has three episodes of _The Bachelor_ to catch up on. He’s _busy._

It doesn’t take more than seven seconds before his phone is dinging twice, one after another

_don’t care, need u_

_pls_

And then a few minutes later, when Louis hasn’t replied yet, which Harry is apparently taking as a not-no:

_i’m coming over_

Fuck.

It’s no use trying to stop the man, probably, not if he is already seemingly comfortable enough with inviting himself over to a pretty-much-stranger’s home, so Louis doesn’t. Instead, he gives himself a solid twenty seconds to think about what the fuck his life has come to, before he flicks the TV off, scrambles up off the couch and rushes into his room to throw his dirty clothes in the hamper, stuffs everything else under his bed. He goes to the kitchen, makes sure he’s thrown out his empty pizza boxes, and tries to arrange the counter so that it looks like it’s actually used more than holding said empty pizza boxes.

Harry arrives not half an hour later, Louis frantically throws a dirty pair of trackies into his spare bedroom before he walks to the door, composes himself and swings it open. The first thing he notices is that Harry looks even more gorgeous in the light of day, looks fucking amazing with his curls pulled back and a black trench coat covering his broad shoulders. His pants fit tightly too, snug against his thighs in a way that admittedly might have Louis’ mouth, watering.

The second thing he notices is that Harry’s pupils are blown - wide and green, and the pants that are tight against his thighs also don’t do anything to conceal the hard outline of his cock down his left thigh. Louis doesn’t get out more than a cut off hello before Harry is pushing into his space, slamming the door behind him. He grabs ahold of Louis’ waist, lifts him up from his grip under Louis’ arse, and the only thing Louis can possibly do is wrap his legs around the man’s waist.

Harry’s mouth is on his quickly, hot and insistent, licking into the heat of his own mouth, and Louis moans against him. Harry bites at his lips, explores his mouth, and he tastes so sweet, something Louis can’t describe, but it makes heat thrum in his veins all the same. “Bedroom,” he pants against Harry’s lips.

They only make it to the couch before Harry is sitting down with Louis on his lap, stripping both of their shirts off, and their pants follow quickly after that.

-

Louis expects Harry to stay the night, at least linger for an hour or two and have an actual _conversation_ , so he’s a bit surprised when the man only lies in bed for a little under half an hour with Louis after their second round. He stands up from the mattress, walks into the living room to find his clothes, and Louis follows after him, eyebrows furrowed as he rests his hip on the door jamb.

“You’re not staying?” he questions, and he hates how his voice sounds so desperate when he really, really isn’t - is just slightly confused.

Harry looks up, vaguely startled like he forgot Louis was there at all. “Oh. Can’t, sorry, have to record some stuff, ya know.”

Louis does know, he supposes, but it doesn’t make the feeling of getting rushed out on hit any softer, especially when it’s past nine in the evening, and Harry can’t possibly be going to the studio now. “Oh.”

Harry slips his shirt on, standing on the wood flooring of Louis’ flat like he belongs there, even though the picture of it makes him look sorrily out of place, and he shuffles over to Louis quickly, leans in to kiss him chastely. “Thanks babe,” he pacifies. His tone holds false emotion, and he’s out the door before Louis can respond.

**_v._ **

Louis’s life goes on and Harry’s nowhere to be seen - probably getting ready for tour, Louis imagines. The next few weeks in his life are as normal as they’ve been for the last three years - since he hasn’t been touring with Zayn and Liam for nine out of twelve months - a nonstop loop of writing for his album, hanging with the lads on a regular occurrence, and staying holed up in his flat, except for the odd party every now and again.

Louis has to fly to Paris for something with management sometime in between then - details he didn’t ask for - and it’s early when Louis texts Harry that he’s in town for business in the same city that Harry happens to be staying in, getting ready for tour in a couple weeks. He doesn’t actually expect a response really, just figures it’s worth a shot because he’s horny and Harry’s a good lay, that’s all, so he’s surprised when he receives a response with the name of a five-star hotel in the area and a room number to go along with it, a fake name to ask for at the front desk.

Louis debates back and forth in his hotel room whether it’s actually worth it - whether it’s too eager of him or not - but he figures fuck it anyway and showers as soon as he’s decided, shaving what he needs to and dressing in a pair of black skinnies, jean jacket over an old band tee and a pair of aviators to hide his face.

He arrives at the room that reads ‘ _1217’_ in fancy gold lettering half eight with a bottle of gin in his right hand and butterflies in his stomach, shoving them down and gaining enough courage to knock on the door. He shouldn’t feel like he’s doing something wrong, being here, but it feels like he has the leading role of a spy movie or some shit anyway, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one comes out of their rooms before Louis can disappear into one.

The hotel door swings open to reveal a half-dressed Harry Styles, only clad in a pair of black boxers with his chest tattoos on display and a bright dimpled smile on his face, hair pulled back in a bun and green eyes glowing. Louis’ first instinct, for some reason unbeknownst to himself, is to prove that he isn’t expecting anything from Harry tonight, no matter the fact that he met him at a hotel after the sun’s gone down or that he shaved every inch of his body _just in case;_ no matter that he’s the one who texted first. So he shyly lifts the bottle in his hand enough that Harry’s eyes can focus on it.

“I, er,” he stutters, a blush coating his cheeks for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. “I brought alcohol. Figured we could drink it if you want. Or watch a footie match. Um, Man U’s playing?” He’s completely rambling, and he sounds stupid to his own ears, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

Harry’s only response though, is a devilish smirk before he opens his mouth to speak. “I didn’t invite you for companionship or a discussion over the latest development in the Man U footie team Lou,” he says, tone laced with gentle amusement, before he reaches out and pulls Louis into the room. The smaller man is wide-eyed as the bottle is taken from his grip and the next thing he knows, Harry’s lips are on his, hot and insistent.

Louis’ in a small state of shock at first - although he really should learn to expect such straightforward behavior from Harry at this point – before he melts into the kiss, lets Harry pull him in further and slip off his jacket while the hotel room door is kicked shut behind them.

Harry grips firmly into his waist, stumbles them over to the only bed that sits in the hotel room, and Louis goes willingly when Harry pushes him onto the comforter. Harry climbs on top of him, cages his smaller body in with his wider frame, and Louis’ mouth waters at the sight of Harry over him, cock filling in his pants.

“Look so fucking hot baby,” Harry mutters, ducking down to press another kiss into Louis’ mouth and trailing to his jawline. “All pretty dressed up for me, tightest fucking pants on. You’re so obscene Lou.”

Louis moans softly when Harry’s hips rock down to meet his, teasing at his now fully hard cock, and his head presses back into the pillow, panting with little puffs of air. His body feels overheated even though the weather outside is nothing special, definitely not warm by any means, and Louis can’t do much more than lie there and take whatever Harry gives him.

Harry’s fingers trail up his still-covered chest and grip at the collar of his tee, yanking it over his head and flinging it off the bed. He leans down, lets his mouth meet Louis’, and he slips a tongue in before Louis even has time to react. Louis kisses him back as well as he can, always a step behind Harry anyway, and Louis’ mouth chases after Harry’s when he pulls away.

“Patience baby,” Harry smirks, looking down at Louis with glowing eyes, and he leans back down over Louis’ chest, trails kisses from his collarbones to his naval. Love bites bloom under his mouth, and Louis whimpers at the slight sting of each of them.

Harry trails his mouth back up when Louis gets restless under him, and his tongue finds purchase on one of his nipples. Louis’ reaction is beautiful, and he arches up involuntarily with a sharp gasp at the sensation, cock leaking precome in his pants.

Harry smirks, makes eye contact with Louis as his tongue slips out and circles the areola, eliciting jagged moans from Louis. He pulls the skin in between his teeth, biting at it, and Louis twitches under him, eyes squeezed tight. Louis gasps a soft, “ _please_ ,” and Harry’s eyes twinkle, letting go of the skin and blowing cool air over it to sooth the sting.

“Like that baby?” Harry taunts, and Louis nods jerkily in response, whimpering when Harry switches to his other nipple and repeats the same thing on it.

By the time Harry has given sufficient attention to him and pulls back, both Louis’ nipples are bitten red and flushed, tender and sensitive to the touch when Harry runs a finger over them. He leans down for another kiss from Louis to give him time to pull himself together, and he sits back up, scoots further down the bed.

Louis’ bulge is straining hard against his zipper, and Harry lets his hands fall to it, undoing his pants and pulling them down his legs. He throws the jeans off the bed, lets them land somewhere unimportant, and when he looks back, Louis’ straining against his boxers, cockhead poking out the top of the band.

“Need some help love?” Harry asks in a voice that makes Louis pant harder, and he doesn’t wait for a response before he grips the band of his boxers too, pulls them down his thighs and throws them where the jeans lay in a pile on the floor.

“ _Please_ ,” Louis begs in one breath, hips bucking up as his cock springs up hard and heavy against his stomach. Harry doesn’t waste any time, takes Louis in his hand in one motion, and he leans down to suck at the tip, wanking Louis in time with his mouth.

Louis whines under him, hands fisting into the comforter and hips trying to buck up into Harry’s mouth. Harry tuts, moves his free hand to Louis’ waist and mumbles, “Behave,” around his cock. Louis’ hips still jump when he takes him down further only to come back off and suck at the tip again, but Harry can see he’s trying in the way his muscles tighten.

Louis’ leaking precome into Harry’s mouth, down his cheek, and Harry sucks him down for another moment until Louis’ barely controlling himself anymore, gripping at his hair and trying to push him down further.

Louis whines when Harry pulls off, eyes blown and dazed, cheeks flushed, and he looks inherently beautiful like that, needy and desperate.

“What do you want Lou?” Harry asks, slowly wanking Louis as he speaks.

“Want – want, _fuck_ ,” he pants, cutting himself off as Harry keeps moving his hand over Louis, thumbing at his cockhead and dipping into his slit. “Want anything, H, fuck – just, _please_.”

Harry hums. “Yeah? Want me to finger you? Open you up? Fuck you a little?”

Louis nods his head vigorously in lieu of a response, panting harshly under Harry and squeezing his hands into fists to keep from touching himself. His legs spread involuntarily, and it makes Harry's mouth water just to watch, see his hole clench around nothing, just the thought of Harry in him.

He gets an idea, watching him, and he manhandles Louis around onto his stomach, arse up in the air. Louis goes willingly, but he mumbles a confused, “Huh?” and his voice shakes, trying to figure out why Harry isn’t in him yet.

Harry doesn’t respond, just moves himself down the bed further, and Louis buries his face into his arm to stop himself from whining. Just as he’s about to turn around and see what the fuck is taking Harry so long, Harry licks a stripe over his hole and Louis lurches. He moans loudly as his arms give out and leave him with his face buried in the pillow, muffling his whimpers.

Harry does it again and gains a similar reaction, licking around his hole and feeling Louis clench underneath him. He experimentally dips his tongue in, just the tip, and feels how tight Louis is around him, how his walls clench over him. He hums, pulls back and rubs his hand over Louis’ arse soothingly. “Like that?” he asks, running a finger across Louis’ hole and to his balls.

“More, “ Louis pants back, words muffled into the pillow, and Harry dives back in. He pushes his tongue past the ring of muscle again, further this time, and Louis lets out nonsensical strings of words that consist mostly of _fuckfuckfuck_ and _HarryHarryHarry_.

Harry takes his time, dips further in every couple of moments, and he’s leaking in his pants just at the sounds Louis’ making. He eats Louis out until he has tears in his eyes, gasping around each sharp breath and having no other defense than to let Harry take him. Louis starts to fuck himself back on Harry’s tongue at some point, still babbling out nonsense, and Harry reaches a hand up to get him to stop, lightly slaps Louis’ right cheek.

Louis moans louder at that, actually lets out a small sob, a few tears slipping down his cheeks, and he presses back more firmly and clenches around Harry’s tongue. Harry does it again, harder this time and to his left cheek, to see how he responds, and heat simmers in Harry’s stomach when Louis moans again, loud and uncontrollable.

Harry pulls back, slips his tongue out of Louis and searches around for the lube he left on the nightstand. “Mm, you like getting spanked baby?” he wonders when he crawls back to Louis, “Like being bad and having someone discipline you? Just gotta fucking take it, don’t you.” Louis whines high in his throat back, shaking his arse a little like he’s asking Harry to take him, and Harry can’t do much else but listen.

He slips his boxers off, leaving him completely naked and hard and heavy between his legs, and he runs his length down Louis’ back, spanks him hard three times, one right after the other, when Louis tries to rut down against the bed. “Hold on babe.”

He slicks three fingers with lube and traces the curve of Louis’ arse until he finds his hole. He easily pushes the first two in, Louis already loose from Harry’s tongue, and Louis moans, rocking back on them. Harry slips a third in a few moments later, and he angles them so that they hit deep in Louis, Louis clenching around him and moaning a string of curses when he hits his prostate.

Harry keeps pumping his fingers in and out of Louis’ hole, scissoring back and forth and living for the way Louis moans. He slicks up another finger, inches it in with the other three, and eventually he’s got Louis rocking back on four, practically riding his fingers with his hair a sweaty mess against his forehead.

Harry slips his fingers out a couple minutes later, when he’s getting close to coming just by watching Louis, and Louis whines as he clenches around nothing. “Just a minute babe,” Harry suffices, grabbing a condom from the side table and opening it up, slipping it down his length and lubing himself up.

He positions himself behind Louis, gripping onto his waist firmly with the hand that isn’t directing his cock, and he slips in when Louis gets impatient and grinds back against him. He inches in slowly, letting Louis adjust to his size, and he stills when he bottoms out, waits for Louis to give him the go ahead.

Louis does a moment later, and Harry fucks into him slow, feels the drag of his cock in Louis, still so wonderfully tight even after having four fingers and a tongue in him. Louis moans shakily with every thrust of Harry’s hips, and Harry grips onto his waist for leverage, pulling out farther and thrusting in deeper.

Louis falls apart underneath him, head tipping back, mouth open, and he lets Harry use him, snap his hips against his arse with every thrust. Harry moans when Louis clenches around him, gripping Louis’ firmer in a way that is sure to leave bruises on his hips. “Feel so fucking good baby, take my cock so well,” Harry praises in a deep, slow voice.

Louis whines in response, nodding his head vigorously, and he lets his body fall forward into the mattress, lets Harry use him how he wants.

“Just a pretty little body for me to use, fuck your hole like you like, yeah? Just fucking letting me,” Harry grunts, holding Louis’ hips against him with his cock buried deep. Louis nods again, dazed, and his body rocks with Harry’s, little _uh uh uh’s_ leaving his mouth. He’s leaking precome all over the sheets and Harry knows he isn’t going to last long, not after having been played with for the better part of an hour. He can feel Louis clenching around him every so often, trying his best not to come yet, and Harry fucks into his harder, revels in the way Louis’ tight heat feels around him.

“Hold on a little longer baby, yeah? Wait for me to come,” Harry half-instructs, changing the angle so that he can hit Louis’ prostate with every thrust. Louis mumbles something that Harry can’t quite make out, but it sounds like an affirmative, so Harry keeps going.

It doesn’t take long for him to get close to the edge, watching his cock pump in and out of Louis, watching as his hole tries to take all of Harry. He can feel the heat pooling in his stomach, and he reaches a hand down under Louis, grabbing his leaking cock in his hand. He leans over the small expanse of Louis’ back so he can whisper into his ear, and he jacks Louis off in time with his thrusts. “Alright baby, can you come now? Come for me Lou, know you can do it, all over my hand love.”

Louis moans loudly, head lolling back and lips turning to mouth at Harry, and Harry keeps fucking into him, grunting every time his hips hit Louis’ arse. “C’mon baby,” Harry urges, hand slipping over Louis’ cock frantically, and when he hits Louis’ prostate sharply, Louis spills into his hand just like that, shouting loudly as his body shakes with his orgasm.

Harry moans at the sight of Louis coming, and he speeds up his thrusts, gripping onto Louis’ hips and fucking into him harder. Louis clenches around him as he comes down and that’s it for Harry. His hips stutter and his cock twitches, and he comes into the condom with Louis tight around him, whining softly at the overstimulation.

Harry stills his hips after he’s milked himself completely, and he pulls out, tying the condom and throwing it in the trash outside the bathroom door. Louis slumps onto the bed, exhausted, and Harry lays by him, presses a firm kiss to his mouth. “Thank you, baby.”

-

The next morning finds them as a tangled mess of limbs, naked under the thin bed sheet that they had draped over themselves last night, Louis’ bum slightly sore and Harry’s arm draped around his naked waist. Harry wakes him up with a blow job, finishing him off with two fingers buried deep in his ass, and Louis returns the favor by riding him into the mattress, whimpering into Harry’s mouth from the overstimulation of already coming once not half an hour before.

Harry jets out for another city with an excuse Louis didn’t bother to listen to an hour after they’ve collected themselves, Louis heading to another meeting with his management soon after, and that’s that. It’s like an unspoken agreement that all it is, is meeting up when they find themselves in the same city at the same time and leaving each other again without anything but a chaste goodbye and no promise of seeing each other again. If it’s doing weird things to Louis’s heart and it beats a little harder, a little faster every time Harry leaves, well. That’s nobody’s business but his.

**_vi._ **

The following Friday, Louis spends a night locked away in Zayn’s house, finally completing the _Mission: Impossible_ movie marathon they’d planned months ago and then forgotten about. They drink beer and eat Chinese from the place down the street, spread out on Zayn’s two large couches in his living room, talking over the movie whenever they feel like they could have pulled off a stunt better than Tom Cruise (which, admittedly for Louis, means at least a third of the scenes).

Of course, Liam feels left out after that and gives them his best puppy eyes, so they spend the next two at his, and the three of them have a _Fast and Furious_ marathon, which is then interrupted by a _Friends_ marathon in between _Fast and Furious 6_ and _Fast and Furious_ _7_ , and by the time Louis emerges from Liam’s house, he hasn’t seen the light of day in nearly seventy-two hours.

He goes home after that, switches writing and looking through various paperwork that his agent had sent him with playing on the pitch in his backyard, kicking a football back and forth and shooting on the net even with no one to play keeper.

The next time he sees Harry it’s a Thursday night, a week and a half after he got back from Liam’s, and Louis is lounging around his flat with nothing better to do than just sit around. Liam was supposed to come over at some undetermined time today too, but he got busy with a song he’s helping write for another band, a new and up-and-coming one who had been elated to work with someone as famous as _the_ Liam Payne, apparently, and Louis couldn’t do much more than respond with ‘ _no problem payno’_ when Liam sent a whole paragraph apologizing profusely about having to cancel their plans.

Also, from what Louis’ read scanning over his social media on the few instances he logs onto them to respond to fans and assure everybody he’s not actually dead, he’s seen the advertisements for Harry’s tour too. It’d be hard to miss, actually, which means he knows that Harry leaves _tomorrow,_ and his first stop is somewhere in Switzerland.

Harry’s text this time consists of something along the lines of wanting to get his fill before he leaves, and Louis would probably be offended if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been aching for a good fuck too, having to use his hand since the last time with Harry, save for that one night he went out with Stan and got off with someone in a dingy club bathroom. He’d also probably be more offended if he wasn’t aware his sex life isn’t likely to ever get better than what he has with Harry at the moment, how they click in a way Louis hasn’t had before.

Louis meets him this time, at one of his London properties, and for once Harry isn't on him as soon as he steps foot into the house. They share a glass of something expensive that comes with a fancy name Louis can’t for the life of him pronounce, first, something red and sweet, and they’re both relatively quiet until Harry has gotten tired of Louis swirling his fingers around his glass suggestively, thumbing at the edge of the rim and getting Harry hard in his trousers without even having to touch him.

It was playful banter up until then, but now Harry sets his glass down on the coffee table and takes Louis’ from his grip too, crawling over him on the large couch and pinning his hips down with his own. “Fucking tease,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ neck as he sucks love bites down the tan skin, and Louis grins, laughing proudly while Harry makes his way down his torso, letting his giggles fall into soft pants and whimpers of Harry’s name.

In between round two and three, Harry makes them both orange chicken after a ten-minute-long debate before he finally manages to convince Louis to let him cook for him, and they sip on more red wine while they shuffle the - admittedly delicious - chicken and rice into their mouths, laughing softly at each topic of conversation and lounging on the couch for the second time that night, having already switched back and forth between the cushions and Harry’s mattress once, a reoccurring theme it seems.

After round three, Harry rolls off Louis with an exceptionally good orgasm to brag about, his face flushed and hair sex mussed, and he screams to nobody in particular, “I fucking _love_ London,” which only makes Louis slap his chest lazily before rolling over to check his phone, pulling the sheet up higher to combat the draft that’s coming from the large windows that line one wall of Harry’s bedroom.

It’s past three in the morning by then, but Louis tells himself he needs to get up anyway, needs to find his own way home and sleep in his own bed, under his own covers, on his own mattress. Too close for comfort and all that.

Harry tries to convince him to stay the night, but Louis insists it isn’t a good idea, teases that he doesn’t want to wake up to an empty bed again, and Louis thinks he sees how Harry’s face falls slightly, how his smile falters, but he shakes it off, convinces himself he imagined it in the early, _early_ morning light. It’s dangerous for Louis to think like that anyway.

**_vii._ **

A few weeks later finds Harry playing in London that night, and Louis unexpectedly gets tickets in his inbox for it, along with a rather explicit message from Harry that makes Louis blush when he reads it in public with Liam and Zayn sitting around him, blissfully unaware.

There are three full-passes, Louis finds, and so of course he brings both of the boys with him to it. They stand sidestage for the duration of the concert, watching from the sidelines as Harry performs to tens of thousands of people.

Niall turns out to be there as well, and Liam and Zayn hit it off immediately with him, Louis can tell. They spend most of the duration of the show talking to each other, playing pranks backstage and messing around like the two of them and Louis used to do before they decided to follow their own careers, and it makes Louis smile to see someone else who can fit in so well with the two of them.

Harry’s sweaty and running on an adrenaline high when he gets off the stage after the final song on his set list, and Louis is pulled along by the beltloop to his dressing room before he can even say anything about it. They exchange messy blow jobs in the privacy of Harry’s room, and Harry rests his forehead on Louis’s shoulder when they’re done, panting into his ear, and it probably says something that Louis wouldn’t mind standing there, covered in drying come, sticky and uncomfortable, for another couple hours, if it means being in Harry’s arms.

They come back out to three very knowing looks from an Irishman and two Brits, staring at their erratic hair and poorly buttoned clothes, and Louis just walks over to his two and pulls them along like a father with two toddlers to keep track of, trying to make it out of the venue without being stopped by any fans. Harry calls after him before he can disappear around a corner, something along the lines of, “You give great head baby!” and Louis doesn’t remember if he manages to flip him off before turning the corning. He can hear Niall cackling in the background as he escapes the venue, grinning.

**_viii._ **

Louis sees headlines of Harry traveling the country after that quite a bit. He pops up on his social media feed or in texts that are sent to him by Liam or Zayn (or even _Niall_ , which Louis doesn’t quite know how the leprechaun managed to get his number, not that he minds) as a joke that come coupled with some kind of comment that they find hilarious and Louis decidedly does _not_. Harry surfaces in tabloids that had somehow managed to get pictures of the five of them together at Harry’s concert as well, rumors spreading like wildfire that the five of them may be starting a band - which, _ridiculous_. He’s everywhere and yet Louis is doing a fantastic job of ignoring it.

He gets sporadic texts from Harry every so often, random things like a key chain Harry found in a tourist shop in every new city he’s in that reminds him of Louis, or a tiny sweatshirt that is obviously meant for a toddler, but that Harry _insists_ would fit Louis. Louis refuses to indulge him.

The first leg of his tour ends soon enough, and Harry’s given a week off before he has to be flown to America, but Louis doesn’t actually know this until Harry has shown up on his front step, knocking on the door to his flat and grinning at him when Louis opens it, sleep mussed at the late hour with his glasses on in place of his contacts.

Louis stares gob smacked at the man for a full minute, mouth fishing for words and brain partially thinking that his mind is just playing tricks on him and he’s hallucinating, because Harry’s supposed to be in _Brazil_ , right? “Cute,” Harry grins at him, eyes sparkling with blissful excitement as he pokes at the black rim of the glasses.

“Fuck off,” Louis grumbles, but he opens the door anyway, and Harry follows him in, lets his duffle that Louis hadn’t even noticed thump to the floor. He spins Louis around once the door is shut, not letting him get more than a few feet away before he pulls on the loose fabric of Louis’ tee and pushes their chests flush together.

“Missed you,” he mumbles roughly against Louis’s mouth.

Louis hums his response, grips onto his shirt and holds him close as he closes his eyes leisurely and lets the moonlight washes over them.

This time when they fall into bed together, it’s with soft touches and gentle kisses, slow presses of their hips together and lingering heat between their bodies. Harry takes Louis slow, holds himself above him on the mattress and sears their lips together while he fucks into him. He brackets his arms around Louis’ smaller frame and swallows Louis’ soft whimpers with his mouth.

This time, it’s different. It feels like everything’s shifted where Louis and Harry lay. Not like the room has been turned upside down, or that suddenly Louis feels out of place, but like Louis came home to find all of his furniture shifted slightly to the left, and found he liked it better that way.

**_ix._ **

One night turns into two, and two into three, and before Louis knows it, they’ve been locked away in Louis’ flat for hitting close to seventy-two hours, three days of uninterrupted, mind-blowing sex on every surface in Louis’ home, and Louis can't say that he particularly minds that the ‘no meaningless sex’ rule he had held months prior has been broken probably close to twenty times in just three days, all by one person.

Harry cooks almost every meal for them too - breakfast, lunch, and dinner, - and it's different, not having to order takeout because Louis can't for the life of him use his kitchen without burning something down. There’s beginning to be another seat indent on the couch next to Louis’ spot too, and that’s a thought, isn’t it? Louis momentarily entertains the idea before he wipes it from his mind altogether.

He’s brought out of the temporary escape they’d unknowingly created for themselves eventually, as Louis can’t ignore his obligations forever, and Harry has to get back on tour as it is. He jets out in the early morning of the fourth day, bag packed with everything of his that had at one point been strewn all over the flat, and both of them say their goodbyes like they’re old friends and not whatever-the-fuck-they-are-that-still-doesn’t-have-a-definite-label. Louis tells himself it’s fine, he has things he needs to focus on after all.

**_x._ **

Harry had been on tour for a total of four days before texting each other had become a habit, sending good morning texts and receiving similar ones at night. It started out with small, random messages about what they were doing that day, or small bits of encouragement for a concert, something that reminded them of each other, and it grew to spending every spare moment talking with the other and anticipating when the next text would come in the hours in between. Grew to Louis basing time on the next moment he’d hear from Harry, basing time on whether Harry was awake in whatever American city he’d found himself in that night.

That’s a scary thought, isn't it? Giving someone so much importance in your life that they become the center of it?

And like it’s. It’s _weird_ , for Louis. Like.

Like he was given the idea from day one that this was supposed to be casual, supposed to be meeting up when they were within reach of one another and letting go when they had to separate again. It wasn’t supposed to be anything past platonic friends who just happened to be attracted to each other having sex. In fact, it wasn’t supposed to even be friends, probably. They weren't supposed to get to know one another, to have intimate knowledge of the other - because isn't that the number one rule in situations like these?

_No strings attached_. That’s what Harry had implied and that’s - that’s fine. (Well, sort of. It’s never exactly been a strong suit for Louis, to not get emotionally involved in something strictly physical - fulfilling a biological need, maybe - but Louis told himself that he could do it, the fact that Harry is pretty much everything Louis has always known he wants be damned.) But this, this is almost too close for comfort.

There’s a thin line between what they’re doing and falling completely, and Louis knows it’s not gonna be hard for him to cross that line, to fling himself over it really, if he hasn’t already. He knows how these things usually end for people like him (they get attached, they fall _hard_ and the other doesn’t, and it’s just a pile of shit for everyone involved). He knows that this could potentially be the worst decision he’s made in a while and he’s made some _bad_ ones, but what if - what if it’s worth it? What if a couple months of complete ecstasy with Harry is worth losing it all so abruptly when this ends? The fact that Louis thinks it might actually be, terrifies him.

And because Louis is apparently a masochist as well, when Harry shows up at his door roughly a month later during the break between the American West Coast and East Coast legs of his tour, Louis doesn’t refuse him. Instead, he tells him he’s crazy for taking a flight to London for three weeks instead of just staying in North America and opens the door wider. Harry doesn’t think he’s too upset about it.

-

Louis supposes they go steady for a couple weeks.

They eat pizza and drink beer on the floor of Louis’ flat, and they go on secret dates (in an effort to avoid paparazzi) in planetariums and at zoos after closing time, bribing the workers just clocking out. They stay up until the sun rises, simply lying in Louis’ king size bed, running their hands through each other’s hair and whispering secrets for just the other to hear as the red orange hue of the sun shines in through the windows and their legs lay tangled together under the cool bedsheets.

They laugh into each other’s mouths whenever Louis makes a joke right as Harry’s trying to kiss him, and Harry learns where Louis keeps everything in his flat, knows where every piece of kitchenware is and where he keeps the extra toothpaste. He has a permanent seat on the couch right next to Louis’, and he’s the one logged into Netflix on the TV.

They’re all over each other during every second they’re awake (even when they’re not, actually, spooning together when they’re sleeping), and they don’t let themselves waste the three weeks Harry has off, whether that’s by taking every opportunity to get a couple of orgasms out of one another or learning small, miniscule details about the other on their makeshift dates. It’s all _gogogo_ the whole time, a constant schedule of doing everything they can possibly think of with one another, but they're okay with that really, because Louis hasn’t felt this alive since maybe before the band started focusing on their own solo careers three years ago, and Harry feels continuously happy for an extended amount of time and really, that’s all they can ask for in the lives they live.

They wake each other up with cuddles and gentle kisses instead of morning blow jobs, something that strangely holds more intimacy than having their mouths around the other’s cock, and Louis catches himself letting his hand linger on Harry’s waist in passing, catches the way Harry’s eyes are always tracking him, even in the midst of shopping trips and outings in public.

Louis finds things he didn’t write on the grocery list, and he has to actually separate clothes when they come out of the hamper into piles of who they belong to, although he ends up stealing a couple t-shirts that are far too large for him anyway. They decide together on what movie they’re going to watch each night, and Louis teases Harry when he chooses _Love Actually_ for the third time, but he softens the blow by curling into his side and tucking his cold feet under Harry’s thighs.

He sees how Harry looks at him, something scarily close to how Louis has caught himself looking at Harry, and he sees the way Harry lights up when Louis does something as simple as skimming his hand down his arm. He sees how Harry studies him, like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve, and he sees how their more intimate moments seem to leave a heavy silence behind that settles deeply in both their chests.

The sight of Harry half-naked at the stove in the early morning, or in the laundry room running another load becomes a regular occurrence. Louis’ mind normalizes showering while Harry brushes his teeth at the vanity, and he finds it’s easier to fall asleep when there’s a tired body lying next to him, acting as a natural furnace to Louis’ skin which gets cold far too easily.

Watching Harry stumble around on his two feet like he's Bambi makes his smile softly, _fondly_ , too, and whenever Harry catches him and flushes pink at the fact that he can’t walk straight on his own two feet, Louis can’t help but to pull him into a gentle kiss, biting at his soft lips until Harry wraps his long arms around him and sucks kisses into his neck, grinds his hips against his own and carries him to the bedroom. They intertwine their fingers when they can’t be any closer than that and they find comfort in the feeling of the other pressed up against their own shoulder.

It’s a whirlwind romance if there ever was one, except it’s _not_ a romance because that’s what they had decided when it started, and Louis _has_ to stick by that to keep his sanity. It does a fantastic job of picking Louis up and whipping him around either way though, like a tornado that just doesn’t let go, and yet Louis isn’t afraid of hitting the ground. He sees lightening in Harry’s eyes when he looks at him and hears thunder when he speaks, and Louis finds he doesn’t ever want to leave the storm.

As if that isn't enough to keep Louis more than content, he’s actually getting _writing_ done, even while Harry’s occupying almost all of his time, and - that’s progress really, since he hasn’t been very productive in producing something he actually _wants_ to sing for a while, unlike Zayn and Liam who have been releasing music left and right. But he's doing it and if being with Harry helps, then Louis won’t complain. He’s starting to believe that the temporary happiness might actually be worth it, scarily enough.

**_xi._ **

Harry has to leave come the end of the third week, has places to be that he can't put off any longer, and it’s weird. Because Louis hadn’t realized how accustomed he had grown to Harry in just three weeks by the way his vanilla-y scent occupied every room in the flat, or how his laughs never ceased to fill the quiet; how some of the fucking _giant’s_ clothes had managed to find their way into Louis’ laundry too, and how Louis hadn’t had to order carry out in _weeks_ because Harry can _cook_ , like, really fucking well. Like more than Louis’ shoving a frozen pizza in the oven and managing to grab it out before the flat burned down (an impressive feat really).

The few days leading up to his departure went quietly - were tense, almost. Harry never mentioned the exact day he was leaving, and Louis didn’t bring it up, but it filled the space between them with unspoken words anyway. Louis could see the beginning of the end in how Harry’s stuff started to disappear, how traces of him weren’t left lying over counters and in between the sheets. There was a silent agreement that they wouldn’t speak of it, but that didn’t stop them from communicating with their bodies, the way they gripped onto each other tightly when they found themselves on Louis’ mattress and left marks that wouldn’t disappear for days. They communicated through the way Louis kissed Harry fiercely and how Harry held him securely, a mute promise that they both knew couldn’t be kept. 

Louis remembers, too, waking up in the early morning, far too early to be up, and just a day or two before Harry would leave. He remembers hearing small sniffles, his sleep hazy mind confused about where it was coming from, and he remembers rolling over and finding Harry awake, eyes red and cheeks blotchy.

He remembers his heart aching with the picture, remembers silently watching green eyes and trying to fix it, even though he didn’t know what was wrong. He remembers cuddling closer to Harry on the mattress, wrapping his arms around his form and pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder. He remembers falling back asleep without ever figuring out what had Harry crying at 4 AM.

Harry left eventually, on a Tuesday morning, when long nights in bed and lazily kisses in the morning weren’t enough to keep him here, and they resolved to giving stalling goodbyes, refraining from saying anything that they were desperate to tell each other. (Like maybe how they can figure this out and they can make this - whatever _this_ is - work; or how they’d rather stay cooped up in Louis’ flat and watch films on the rainy days - which accounted for most of them when it came to London - with a warm cuppa; how they longed for that more than one of them climbing onto a plane that would separate them by 4,219 miles.)

Instead, they stayed silent in exchange for waving unsettled goodbyes to each other from different sides of a door and making promises of seeing each other soon that wouldn’t actually hold out. Louis gripped onto Harry and pressed their lips together fiercely before Harry could disappear to the elevator, just barely keeping himself from begging for him to _please stay_ , _please_ , memorizing the feeling of his mouth before letting him walk through the doorway of his flat.

Harry would be on a flight back to a foreign country three hours later, and Louis’ flat was empty again as he trotted around in fluffy socks and oversized jumpers that couldn’t possibly belong to him; as he tried to convince himself that no, he didn’t need the curly headed man he had met properly only months ago to be happy, he _didn’t_.

**_xii._ **

Louis came to know he’d made a mistake months ago through paparazzi pictures of Harry Styles with a comfortable arm swung around another dark headed brunette man - one Louis recognized well enough to remember that he was someone that held some significance in Harry’s life, but not enough to be able to remember his name. Bruce? Brandon? Ben? Louis doesn’t know.

And Louis could’ve pretended that it was another faulty Daily Mail headline - because, let’s face it, they pretty much all are - but the fact is that there really isn't any other way to spin the photos that had appeared on Louis’ feed that morning.

The way the man held onto Harry; how he leaned in to whisper closely in the singer’s ear when it really wasn’t even necessary; the way Harry looked at the man like he held the answer to every question Harry had (a look Louis knows well, because he remembers receiving it), and the way they disappeared into a classy hotel somewhere in Nashville together, the hotel Louis knew Harry was staying at because Harry had _told_ him.

Louis feels like an idiot staring at the pictures, alien in his bed, an idiot because he should have known better before. He feels humiliated as well, like this could be one big joke that only Louis isn’t in on, and it makes Louis feel small, inconsequential. Louis though, is smart enough to know when not to twist the knife; when he should just leave it alone and spare himself the heartache. Which. Heartache. Fucking hell.

Thank fuck the opportunity comes soon enough, as a text a couple of days later, summarized from Harry as _‘gonna b in town next week, got plenty of time for you love ;)’._ It makes Louis a little sick just seeing his screen light up with the notification, hurts a little knowing that this is it, this is where he ends it, has to if he wants to function as a normal part of society anytime soon, and Louis is quick answer.

_‘busy._ ’ is all he responds _,_ and like, points for creativity honestly.

Harry’s response had been almost immediate, a sad face that had consisted of way too many ‘ _(_ ’s to be considered appropriate for a twenty-four-year-old, although Louis was endlessly endeared anyway, in a way that made him want to cry, and a hopeful ‘ _later then? thursday? wanna see you lou’._

Louis could practically hear Harry’s disappointed yet hopeful voice just through the phone, and he almost didn’t even bother to answer, painfully sending ‘ _can’t, don’t think I’ll have time for you for a while_ ’ a moment later.

Harry hadn’t responded after that, although the ‘…’ had lingered for a matter of minutes until, ultimately, the man had decided better of it, leaving Louis alone with the funny feeling is the pit of his stomach. The feeling that made him feel like retching into the toilet a little bit or breaking every plate in his cupboard.

The ‘ _read: 1:47’_ that was displayed under his most recent text shouldn’t have hurt so much - gosh it’s a _text_ receipt - but Louis still felt like utter shit when he threw his phone off the couch that sat in his large _lonely_ living room, hearing a small crash from the impact of the device as he stood up off the couch and stumbled his way into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of gin - one Harry had bought a couple weeks ago for ‘ _when you miss me too much Loubear’_ coupled with a cheeky grin, coincidentally enough - and ambled his way to the home studio he’d had built after he’d bought the flat years ago and gotten a larger responsibility in writing songs for the band.

Heartbreak’s always been his biggest inspiration after all.

**_xiii._ **

****

The one plus of all of this is that Louis’ been a maniac in the studio, spitting out song after song, but the benefits end there. He’s been moping around for weeks, barely leaving the comfort of the soundproof booth in his recording studio, and he’s done a terrific job at ignoring the lads - being a proper twat when he does spend spare hours with them - but he just can't be bothered to care.

He’s felt like shit, simply put, and he knows he shouldn’t be so disheartened by the knowledge that he won’t be seeing Harry again, that he didn’t _actually_ hold a semblance of importance in his life, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling betrayed and just plain _hurt_ over losing something that was always meant to be stay between _no strings attached_ and _friends with benefits_ in the first place.

Talking with Harry had ended pretty much effectively after claiming his lack of time - for the curly-headed man specifically - and Louis tries not to dwell on it too much. Tries not to think about the images of Ben - he’d googled the man (Ben Winston, a mate of Harry’s, _apparently_ , and one of his producers according to _Wikipedia_ ) in a moment of weakness a couple days ago - touching and holding and caressing Harry in a way that Louis had imagined was only his to claim. Tries not to care because he shouldn’t and he knew better and he’s just a big idiot honestly since the letters D-O-N-T were practically written out in dark black, permanent ink on Harry’s forehead the moment he met him, and yet, Louis D-I-D anyway.

So all of this and Louis pretty much just feels like shit if he’s going to sum it up into a word, but hey, at least he got some good songs out of this, right? Small favors.

He feels like shit walking around the painfully lonely flat and he feels like shit waking up and reaching out for a body that hasn’t been there for weeks. He feels like shit when he has to curl up on the couch by himself and finish a show that was supposed to be _theirs_ and he feels like shit writing songs about a man who was supposed to be the _definition_ of casual in his life. He feels like shit and he’s so fucking _tired_ of it.

Which is exactly why he makes the executive decision to get laid. He makes the executive decision to throw on his tightest pair of pulling jeans and an easy-to-slip-off tee, to gel his hair up into a quiff that Liam’s told him makes him look sexy (objectively obviously, because Liam’s decidedly straight). To hail a cab and give the address to the closest gay club.

He doesn’t even have to wait more than half an hour and one gin and tonic before he’s being chatted up by a tall bloke with green eyes and brown curls, funnily enough, being bought drinks and flirted shamelessly with.

They’re only through their third drink before they’re stumbling out of the club, bumbling into a taxi and gripping each other while their mouths slot together firmly. Louis lets them into his flat unceremoniously after slipping probably too much to the driver, and they’re in his bed within five minutes of entry, clothes peeled off and bodies already covered in a layer of sweat.

It’s different from Harry, very much so, and that’s saying something isn't it? That he's in bed with another and he’s still thinking of Harry - comparing them and _Harry’s_ winning (not like there was much of a competition really).

Because the man who he has in his bed isn’t as big as Harry, doesn’t have the same love handles that Louis adores so much which are rivaled by the perfect abdominals that Harry manages to keep at the same time. He doesn’t know all of Louis’ spots as well either, doesn’t know how to give it to Louis like he craves, but it’s enough, and if Louis tries hard enough, he can picture it’s Harry above him instead, letting out low, affected moans and fucking into Louis like he needs.

Louis falls asleep with an only partially-satisfying orgasm and a body of brown curls and green eyes that doesn’t fit into his side as well as he wants it to.

**_xiv._ **

Louis’ always been a light sleeper, so it doesn’t take much more than a broken “ _What the fuck?_ ” that’s close to a startled yell to pull him out of his slumber.

He blinks his eyes open drearily, taking in his surroundings, registering the body lying naked next to him and the way the moon is shining through the window over his extravagant bed just well enough to make out the outline of a body standing frozen in the slotted doorway to his bedroom.

Louis blinks, sitting up and rubbing his eyes to wipe the sleep away so he can focus, the sheet pooling around his naked waist. When his eyes finally adjust to the dark, he’s suddenly much more alert and awake than he was two minutes ago, gaping at the person standing immobile in the doorway.

“ _Harry_?”  
  


He doesn’t get a response, but Louis knows it’s him anyway, can tell by the way his curls shine in the moonlight and how his olive-green eyes are a watery mint from the hurt of _whatever_ it is he’s seeing in them right now.

Neither of them move, but the body next to Louis’ starts to stir at the commotion and then he’s grumbling awake, making noises of confusion about what’s happening. He stops when his brain processes the image in front of him, a reflection of himself staring back at him, just fully dressed and with a look of disbelieving defeat on his face.

The man ( _the man_ because Louis can't actually remember his name, doesn’t know if he actually ever got it) just sits there, flicking his eyes back and forth between the other two men before he decides it’s in his best interest to just leave, climbing out of the bed and throwing his clothes on as quickly as possible, awkwardly waving a goodbye to Louis before shuffling past Harry in the doorway and beginning his walk of shame.

Louis waits until he hears the door click shut before he directs his attention to Harry again, tries to get his mouth working as his sleep disoriented state leaves him. “What are you doing here?” is what he decides on, asking the words softly, confusedly.

Harry coughs to clear his throat, eye-contact boring into Louis’ hazy blue ones and mouth fishing for words. “I-- I thought you… We-- _fuck_.” His voice breaks off abruptly and it’s like the dam sort of breaks, the first few tears falling down Harry’s cheeks as his voice tries and fails to form a more distinctive answer.

It’s all Louis can do to just watch, watch the way Harry’s face crumples in front of him and how the tears land on the worn _ACDC_ band tee he’s dressed in. He wants so desperately to look away so he doesn’t have to watch how Harry is breaking in front of him, but he _can't_ , and his eyes are stuck, physically can't leave Harry’s.

Louis eventually gets himself together, pulling the bedsheet higher up over his chest because he just feels so _exposed_ like this, and Harry doesn’t miss the action. His face falls even more. “What are you doing here Harry?” Louis repeats, and his voice sounds detached even to him.

Harry’s eyes study him in the moonlight, sniffling to get a breath to speak. He manages an answer finally, voice scratchy and wrecked. “The-- the door was open, and I thought you m-might be awake maybe and I wanted to s- _ee you,_ and-nd I thought--- why was he h- _ere Louis_?” His voice breaks again and this time he does nothing to hide it, and it shatters Louis’ heart - how small Harry sounds.

“You… we - why _wouldn’t_ he be here?” Louis asks, and he knows Harry needs a better answer than that but playing dumb seems like the easiest choice right now.

Harry looks like he wants to say something, protest in some way, but he steels himself, just utters a small, broken, “Oh,” instead.

Louis’ insides churn at Harry’s stunted words and his body is screaming for Harry to say something else, prove him wrong, say that there _is_ a reason why Louis shouldn’t have been in bed with another man. Except he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Louis responds unhelpfully literally a full two minutes later when it’s been silent for too long, and he says it with finality, mind racing with so many things he wants to say, but he just isn’t strong enough to admit them.

They stay frozen, staring at each other with lost looks for what feels like forever but could’ve been three seconds and Louis wouldn’t have known the difference, before Harry finally moves, stutters backwards like he’s remembered that he’s just standing there, and he points towards the living room with a jerky motion. “I - I’m gonna--” his voice breaks again, and he doesn’t finish the thought before he’s whipping around and stumbling back down through the hallway without another word, shakily gripping the door open and practically throwing himself through the barrier.

Louis watches him go dumbly, stares at the empty space where Harry was just standing, and he curls in on himself when he hears the door shut for the second time, gripping his pillow tightly and crying into it for a reason he can’t understand - whether he’s crying for Harry’s absence or crying for himself, he doesn’t know. It hurts all the same.

**_xv._ **

Louis steps out of the limo to blinding lights and deafening screams, taking a deep breath and steeling himself before he opens his eyes. He takes in his surroundings and continues forward, reminds himself to walk with purpose and an air of confidence, a small smile playing on his lips.

The cool air that blows over his skin and passes by his shoulders is refreshing, but it does nothing for the butterflies that are flapping in the pit of his stomach. He’s already starting to sweat, never a good sign when it’s literally been not even two minutes, but Louis trudges on anyway, acts as if he has a choice.

There are cameras almost everywhere he looks, and where there aren’t there are screaming fans, teenagers lining the carpet that Louis thinks is extremely unnecessary, although his publicist had insisted just the opposite when he complained about it.

Bodies crowd around him as he walks closer to the building and the screams get louder when he’s spotted, his hired bodyguard for the night flanking his side and walking him up the steps, towards the entrance. He only manages to take a handful of photos with a few fans and give two short interviews before he’s escorted into the building an undefined moment later.

It’s a different kind of overwhelming as he steps inside and takes in the scene, A-list celebrities dressed elegantly everywhere. The sound of constant chatter makes for an all-engulfing white noise to his ears, and Louis is used to chaos, but he doesn’t think this will ever quite be normal for him, especially when he doesn’t have two other people standing with him like he was so used to.

The atmosphere inside is so starkly different and yet all the same as it was outside just seconds ago - blaring screams of fans and paparazzi trying to get his attention traded for the acknowledgement that there’s no way out of this situation, that he has to socialize with all these people, half of which he only vaguely recalls meeting and yet in several hours they all still get to give their opinion on his first solo album.

It’s nerve-wracking, is what it is, and his eyes dart around nervously, unconsciously searching for one thing. He doesn’t find it - which may be a miracle, his saving grace, or it could be the big guy up in the sky laughing at him - but he does catch the eye of Ed. He pastes a smile on his face - genuinely relieved to see an actual friend before he has to face the rest of the intimidating crowd that’s gathered in the venue - and he eases over as Ed does the same.

Ed pulls him into a hug as soon as he’s close enough, and the sound of his voice is enough to relax Louis just that much with its familiarity. It’s like he can read the uneasiness on Louis’s face loud and clear with how he doesn’t attempt to congratulate Louis at all, makes a joke instead about how inconvenient it is having to keep up appearances when he’d rather be at home on his couch with his wife, watching _Back to the Future_ , and Louis laughs softly at that, ignoring how the desire of how much he really wants that exact thing burns like a fire deep inside him.

They don’t chat for long, but Ed manages to keep Louis this side of calm for the extent of their conversation and for that Louis can only be grateful. Ed slips off eventually - says he promised to bring Cherry a drink earlier and he still needs to make good on that promise - but before he goes, he pulls Louis into a tight hug, whispers in his ear that it’s going to be alright, and Louis does relax at the words, if only slightly.

It’s just his luck that the first person he singles out in the crowd after Ed has disappeared is Harry. Harry - who he hasn’t seen in months. It hits him hard and heavy to see him here, finally, after imaging how he’s changed in just a matter of months, time and time again. Only _imagined_ because he was far too terrified that if he went digging too far, he’d uncover something about Harry’s new life that he didn’t really want to find.

His chest throbs something painful when Harry’s eyes meet his through the crowd of people, only for them to flick away immediately, but not quick enough for Louis to miss the hurt that is held there in the swirls of green and gold. It’s terrifying for Louis to know that Harry - the person that, admittedly, a majority of the songs off his album are inspired by - is going to be one of the first few hundred to hear every ballad he’s written in just the last months, every word that has been born solely based off the range of emotions he found in Harry.

He’s going to hear the side of their relationship that he couldn’t experience because he was experiencing the other end at the same time, going to hear the side that shows how weak Louis is. How he let the hurricane that only promised disaster in anyway, and how he didn’t think to stop it when it brought brown curls and green eyes, pink lips and loud laughter, soft moments just before sunrise, with it. It’s terrifying to Louis that some of the most respected people in the industry - along with some of the people _he_ respects most in life, values their opinions the most - are going to hear him wear his heart on his sleeve.

It’s terrifying, and yet Louis’ never been more ready and at the same time, unprepared, for one thing in his whole life.

He gives himself thirteen more seconds to dwell on Harry - thirteen seconds of Harry’s presence and significance and opinion and just _him_ \- before he continues scanning his eyes over the crowd, makes the rounds and accepts congratulations from all his peers and colleagues.

-

It feels like he’s only been chatting with Liam and Zayn - who had resurfaced somewhere between Louis talking to Nick Grimshaw and trying to find a bottle of vodka (two instances that decidedly had nothing to do with each other) - for nothing more than twenty minutes but in actuality was probably more than an hour and a half before his agent is intercepting him, apologizing for monopolizing his attention and pulling him off to the side of the stage, explaining to him how the actual _listening_ part of the album release will go. She sends him off a couple minutes later when it’s clear Louis isn’t going to be able to process any more information, to finish one more drink as a recently appointed vice to calm his nerves before he’s set to go onstage.

It feels like even less time after that, that his agent is walking onto the stage, commanding the attention of the room and delivering an introduction speech for Louis, before calling him up onto the stage himself.

Louis sways a little as he walks up the steps to the platform (from nerves, _not_ alcohol - he’s not idiot enough to get drunk at his own release party before he’s actually shared the music) and thanks his agent before taking the mic from her, facing the crowd and squinting at the way the spotlights hit him so brightly.

He gives a short speech of gratefulness for this opportunity - thanking everyone in attendance and hoping that they enjoy the album, all the standard stuff - before he sits down in a seat in the corner of the stage, the lights dimming as everyone waits at their tables for the music to start.

He’d chosen several songs to play tonight, each for a separate, particular reason, and every one of them blasts through the speaker with no break for Louis to try to figure out how everybody’s finding it, the crowd listening attentively and giving noises of affirmation in all the right places even still.

After what feels like an eternity of nerve-wracking waiting, the final song’s cords are playing through the speakers, each sound sharp in his ear as he waits in anticipation at the reaction of the crowd. It’s undoubtedly the most personal song on the album, the one he wanted to save for last in case he couldn’t handle just sitting here and listening to it. In case he couldn’t handle waiting while everyone else listens to his feelings in the form of lyrics and specifically placed notes, completely bare and raw. His eyes unwillingly find one man in the crowd no matter how fucking hard he tries not to, because apparently Louis is living in an actual Rom-Com, and he watches as Harry listens attentively, like each word that pours out of the speakers contains the answer to something he’s been searching for.

Louis watches him throughout the song, watches as his body stills when the opening chords pour into the first verse, watches as the man stays frozen in his chair, barely even breaths as his ears catch each and every syllable. Louis doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath either until the song is hitting one of its last verses, the lyrics playing through the speakers and echoing throughout the otherwise silent ballroom, practically screaming at Louis, making him itch at his slacks and fidget uncomfortably in his seat.

_You gave me the time and the space_

He watches as Harry grips his thigh tighter, can see the way his hand flexes under the table where he’s sat with a group of seven other people. His eyes are shut in a way that shows he’s only relying on his hearing to magnify the significance of every word, and Louis swallows heavily as he tracks every movement.

_  
I was out of control, and I'm sorry I let you down_

Harry’s throat bobs and he swallows thickly, eyes squeezed shut in a way that Louis knows means he’s fighting the urge to cry, doing his best to refrain from letting his heart bleed with so many people around him, blissfully unaware, and fighting a losing battle. He sees how Harry’s leg twitches, how it longs to move and probably run away, hide from every word that’s being swallowed by his ears. It looks like it’s almost painful for him to sit there and just listen, and it makes the space behind Louis’ eyes burn to watch him struggle.

_  
Guess that I know what I already knew_

Whatever was biting so relentlessly at Harry leaves him in that moment and a tear finally falls from his still squeezed shut eyes. Louis’ pretty sure he heard a small, choked off sob leave the man’s lips - even over the sound of his own voice that’s almost too loud now through the speakers - but maybe he made it up too, because no one around Harry reacts, just keeps listening as Louis’ voice continues.

_  
I was better with you, and I miss you now_

It’s the final blow, Louis can tell as soon as the words are out of the speaker, and Harry - he just. _Cracks_. Breaks. He stands abruptly from his chair, stumbling and almost knocking it over in his haste, making his way through the array of the white-clothed tables that cover the floor of the ballroom, and Louis’ eyes follow him as he breaks into a small run, rushes through the closest door and bursts into the empty hallways.

Louis longs to follow after him, to chase and just be with him. Longs to explain, because even though he’s experienced the same heartbreak, it doesn’t give him the closure he thought it would to watch Harry break in front of him too. He hurts all over and distantly, it’s like he’s an extension of Harry, can feel his pain all the same.

It feels like a lifetime passes between the moment Harry had left the room and the second the guitar strings finally stop. The room is eerily silent for all but four seconds before it’s erupting into applause, congratulations coming from every separate guest, and Louis stands from his chair at the side edge of the stage, walks shakily to the front of the platform and looks out over the throng of people in front of him.

He gives a quick - probably bordering on impolite - 'thank you’ speech again, instructs the crowd to please enjoy the desert that should be passed around soon, and quickly makes his exit off stage.

He’s encompassed immediately by waves of people offering their congratulations and support, and later, when Louis doesn’t feel so overwhelmed with the need to find the one man who isn't here, he’ll process it, let himself appreciate it.

Right now, though, he has somewhere else he needs to be, and he pushes through the crowds as politely as he can, thanking each person who’s close enough to congratulate him quickly and continuing on his path.

He finally emerges from the group on the side of the vaulted room that Harry left out of and he hastily searches for the correct exit, pushing himself through the double doors and all but sprinting down the hallway until he finds what he’s looking for.

He runs by a windowed door that leads out onto a patio on the south side of the building before he stops in his tracks, brain registering the image of a suit clad body hunched over the railing and staring out into the silent night.

He backtracks quickly, pushing the door open carefully and stepping out into the night air, feels the wind nip at his skin softly.

Harry turns around abruptly, and the moonlight catches his face in that moment, covered in dried tears and eyes rimmed red. Louis opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by Harry before he can get the words out.

“ _How fucking dare you_ ,” the man spits, puffy eyes boring into Louis’.

Louis recoils, taking his hand back from where he had been reaching out for the man. He was expecting a lot of various reactions, but he wasn’t expecting that. “ _Me?_ ”

Harry nods jerkily, inhaling deeply and glaring daggers at the smaller man in front of him. “Yes _you_. How fucking dare you make me listen to that. You-- how is that _fair_?”

Louis glares, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “ _Fair??_ Harry, nothing about us is _fair_.”

Harry takes a shaky breath, scoffing self-depreciatingly, and he looks out over the London skyline momentarily. It’s a gorgeous view, admittedly, from the patio they’ve found themselves on - the lights illuminating the city beautifully and the distant traffic an almost peaceful soundtrack to the starkly contrasting moment. Harry takes a sharp breath before he turns back around. “How-- how could you have possibly thought that it wouldn’t destroy me to listen to that Louis? I mean. God-- _Louis_.” His voice breaks wretchedly and Louis longs to reach out for him, to comfort him.

“What was I supposed to _do_ Harry? You didn’t come back after-- _after_ , I thought you had just given up,” Louis admits smally.

“G- _given up?!_ ” Harry exclaims exasperatedly, wide-eyed. “Louis you had _sex_ with someone else. I never gave anything _up_.”

Louis glares, taking a sharp breath. “We never had _rules_ Harry. And I only did that because you slept with someone else first. Don’t give me bullshit about me doing _you_ wrong. _Fuck_ you honestly.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “When--”

“With _Ben_ , Harry. I _saw_ the pictures of you that night. He was all fucking over you and it sure as hell didn’t look like you minded.”

“But I--”

“Do _not_ fucking bullshit me Harry. You _slept_ with him, point blank. Am I wrong?”

The way Harry adverts his gaze and drops his head tells him he’s not. “That’s what I thought,” he spits, voice laced with venom and poorly disguised hurt.

Harry’s head snaps up. “Okay but that still doesn’t give you an excuse to make me listen to that Louis. I-- that whole _thing_ \-- fuck, I just. _Fuck_.”

Louis huffs, frustrated. “ _What_ was I supposed to do Harry? I wasn’t going to tell you not to come after you hadn’t said a single thing to me in months, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to say something first. It was _terrifying_ to invite you, but fuck it if it would have hurt less to know you weren't here, not when you’re the only reason half of those fucking songs exist.”

When Louis focuses back on Harry, he still looks hurt and his shoulders are tense, but his face softens considerably, eyes vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to say Louis,” he tells him softly. “I waited too long to make up my mind and I didn’t think you wanted me anymore. I didn’t know what to do _,_ okay _?_ ”

Louis sniffles and he steps closer to the other man, his shoulders untensing and his body giving up the fight. “Harry you _idiot_ ,” he says, all great indignance, shaking his head disbelievingly, and Harry is about to protest but Louis grips his shirt before he can, pulling him into a watery kiss, effectively shutting him up with his mouth.

Harry melts into the kiss immediately, and his eyes flutter shut at the sweet taste of Louis on his lips, _finally_. Louis lets their mouths linger together for a moment before he separates their lips completely, but he keeps a sure grip on the fabric of Harry’s dress shirt, presses their foreheads together and stares down at Harry’s face that’s so close to his in front of him, breathing out into the cold air, voice soft and sure. “Of course I still wanted you, you knob head. I’m bloody in love with you, you idiot.”

Harry breath hitches before he laughs wetly and he pulls Louis into another chaste, firm kiss, letting their lips separate with a small smack. His smile is blinding when Louis opens his eyes again, dimple and all, and he speaks up once he has Louis’s attention.

“Thank goodness, cos I’m so fucking in love with you Lou, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it baby.”

His laughter is swallowed by Harry’s mouth, and Louis grips into him with everything he has.

**_Finished._ **

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading ! hope you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment or something if you want, much love <3


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